Jak 3: The Sands of Time
by LeiaOrganicSolo
Summary: Banished. Left for dead. But this hero refused to be forgotten... novelization of Jak 3/full summary inside - NEWEST Chapter IV: "I am Damas." Jak felt his stomach clench at the name; he wasn't sure why. "King of Spargus."
1. Prologue

**Jak 3: The Sands of Time**

**Genre: Adventure, General**

**Rated: T for language and violence**

**Characters: Jak and Dax of course**

* * *

**Prologue**

_I've heard legends of that person.  
How he plunged into enemy territory.  
How he saved his homeland._

_I've heard legends of that person  
of how he traveled the breadth of the land,  
reducing all he touched to rubble._

_I've heard legends of that person  
I've heard legends of that person._

_Revered by many - I too revere him.  
Feared by many - I too fear him._

_Now that person  
stands at my side._

* * *

Dark blue boots paused mid-step. Turning around to stare at the sleeping ottsel he had befriended many years ago Jak sighed; he had too many burdens for a mere seventeen years, Daxter wasn't going to be dragged into them as well.

Slowly and tentatively the youth crouched to pick up his goggles that had fallen to the ground sometime in the night. He closed his fingers around the worn leather and brought them to his head. He fastened them determinedly, but was betrayed by trembling fingers.

He shook his head, the motion hasty. He had already wasted enough time, as transparent light from early morning began to seep through the dingy curtains. He would have to leave quickly, before Daxter was lucid enough to follow. Jak felt something- _shame, cowardice, guilt?_ -as he looked towards his best friend for what he knew would be the last time.

"Maybe in another life," he whispered softly; a catchphrase the two had come up with during their brief but happy time in Sandover Village. "Take care of yourself Dax."

He looked towards the ground, eyes downcast - full of torment, full of pain. More emotion than anyone besides Daxter had ever seen, had ever _tried_ to see. For a moment they were black, black as the night, before shifting back to their usual blue hue.

It wasn't much but he left the ottsel a blue eco infused stone, the only reminder the two had of home. With shaking fingers the youth placed it next to the orange sleeping form, and turned away. He moved without a sound, ducking low beneath the slanted door frame and gliding into the city where his entire life had been shattered, twisted and warped until he became _nothing_, just an unrecognizable shadow of the hero whom he once was. Gods, when was this nightmare going to be over? As the dark, smoggy clouds opened up and it began to thunder Jak knew the answer.

It wouldn't.

* * *

Slowly, Daxter awoke with the sound of soft, scattered raindrops echoing in his ears; incoherently the ottsel cursed. Gods, he hated the rain - at least in Haven City. It was more smog than anything as it mingled with Haven's toxic air, and it stank like pollution. Just like the rest of the Mar damn city.

_Stupid crappy rain. Stupid crappy city. Stupid crappy bed. Stupid crappy crap._

The ottsel's eyes were barely open as he curled his tail around his slim body, attempting to obtain some body heat, if any. "Jeez Jak, you sick or something?" he asked sluggishly. It wasn't very often that Daxter had to suffer bitter temperatures, so long as he had Jak, and his fantastic ability to generate enough warmth for the two of them.

"Seriously Jak, it's freezin' tits over here," the ottsel spoke, louder than before.

There was still no response.

"Aye, Jak are ya even listenin' to me?" Even though he was only half asleep, Daxter hated being ignored. Crinkling his nose, he moved to poke his best friend in the stomach, hard enough to wake him should he be sleeping. He missed, jabbing himself instead.

"Jaaaaaak! _C'mon!_" he shouted, irritated. He continued poking downward - nope that was_ his_ leg, and Jak definitely didn't have a tail last night. Suddenly the ottsel gave a jolt as his finger collided with hard cemented wood, softened only by a shabby blanket that he realized _wasn't_ his best friend.

"J-Jak?"

_No no no no no..._

Attempting to untangle himself from the thin throw and swallowing the cold feeling settling in the core of his chest, Daxter began to curse. "Oh Mar..."

Small, dark blue orbs were instantly alert as he looked around frantically, searching for any sign of other life. "Jak?"

He found none, and the realization that he was alone began to suffocate the small ottsel. "No no no no no..." his words were spoken hoarsely, in disbelief, in despair and in bitter defeat.

"_Why_ Jak?" His voice cracked;_ this could not be happening._

Any signs that someone else resided with the ottsel were gone. The morph gun, armor, boots, goggles- _everything_ -that had littered the floor that previous night were missing. There wasn't any indication that they had even been there to begin with. Gone, just like the young renegade, Daxter numbly realized.

But if one really looked close enough, they might have seen the footsteps that indented the cool, earth floor. The rather large footsteps, which led outside and into the scattered falling rain. Familiar footsteps. Jak's footsteps.

Jak- Jak was gone. He had picked up, taken everything, and_ left._

"_Mar damn it Jak,_ why?"

Anger begin to bleed it's way into the ottsel's system. Helplessly he clutched at the tattered blanket, trying to steady himself before he lost it completely. But instead of coarse fabric, his paws gripped something smooth, and dense. Picking up the blue stone with a quivering hand, he slowly ran his fingers across its surface, feeling every crack, each crevice. The blue eco contained inside sparked mildly with his touch and his lips moved soundlessly as he tried to cope with the horrible revelation that was burrowing itself deeper and deeper in his stomach.

Jak_ left_ him. And he was _going to die_ in that _Mar forsaken_ desert, _alone_.

"_Damn it!_" With a snarl the ottsel flung the rock towards the nearest, crumbling wall. The stone made a distinct_ plink!_ noise, ricocheting off of the rotting wood and landing onto the floor. "You idiot!" Daxter burst out, clenching his fists so hard they began to shake. "You jack ass! _Are you fucking retarded?_" He whipped the blanket off of the rickety bed, and practically collapsed, burying his head into his paws. "Why the hell would you_ do something like this?_ You...you..._UGH!_"

Standing on unsteady legs Daxter took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his orange fur. Each coarse strand stuck up straight, reaching towards the ceiling.

This couldn't be happening. This _wasn't_ happening. He and Jak were the Dynamic Duo, they were inseparable. No one and no gun could ever tear them apart; the idea of separation was unthinkable. Unbelievable. It couldn't be real.

But it was.

Daxter heart rate began to quicken as he started to breathe harder. The cold air stung his small lungs. Clutching at his sides, the ottsel forced himself to take a series of short breaths before he passed out.

"NO, NO, _NO!_"

Oh Precursors, it wasn't supposed to end like this! The old adventure tales about heroes and their sidekicks that Daxter had heard as a youth had never ended like this! The two were never supposed to be separated, never alone. _Those_ duos stuck together through thick and thin, despite the treacherous danger that lurked around every corner. Even when there was a chance they wouldn't make it they never deserted each other. _They were inseparable_.

Yet in this world, it seemed like the ottsel found a lot of stories didn't have happy endings as they should.

But why couldn't they? Hadn't they been through enough? What more did the gods want from him, from Jak, from _them_? It wasn't fair, and if Daxter ever met his makers he was going to demand a Mar damn refund, dammit.

Oh for the love of the gods, what was he supposed to do? Hands now freed from his knotted fur, Daxter paced the bed's small frame. Gradually his heartbeat slowed and he stopped his pacing, long enough to take a deep, steadying breath.

"Awww _shit_," he murmured at last. "Who'da thunk I'd be the one to have the save the day?" He clambered down to the ground, landing nimbly. Had the ottsel still been human, his landing may not have been as graceful.

Daxter's decision to save Jak had been quick, reckless, and in the spur of the moment. But he could have had all the time in the world- which he didn't; Jak could be departing any minute now –and he would have reached the same conclusion.

He couldn't abandon his friend. Never. So he would go after the youth and follow him into whatever fate had in store for them. Just like it should be.

The ottsel darted outside into the rain on all fours, but not before grabbing the eco infused stone and stuffing it into the top of his goggles for safekeeping. He would use it as a projectile to throw at Jak for being such a simple minded_ idiot_ when he found him.

When. Not if. He was going to find Jak, even if it killed him.

Which it probably would.

* * *

Every step Jak took brought him farther from familiarity and closer to his absolute death. Of this he was certain - he was going to die, and without Daxter by his side. It was worse than a bullet through his chest, and the renegade tried to push all thoughts of his friend away.

The polluted rain made it impossible. He and Dax had always liked rain; back in Sandover they would follow tidings of the weather almost religiously. For days they would wait anxiously for a storm to roll in. They had nothing better to do.

Jak remembered how it was both scary and exhilarating: to stand in the midst of a thunderstorm atop one of the village's highest hills with only Dax by his side. He wished he could to return to that time of his life. Back to where the weight of the world wasn't on his shoulders and ready to bury him alive.

_That_ was why he had left his friend - to save the ottsel from his own miserable fate. Mar, he couldn't let Dax get killed. It just wasn't right. It wasn't_ fair, _as was a lot of things_._

For days Jak had inwardly begged the Precursors to spare the ottsel; he hadn't prayed since prison. But all he was met with was silence, and the confirmation that his faith was misplaced. He'd never felt so empty. So he ran, unable to find the words that would make Daxter understand.

His intentions were to save him. Honestly.

So why did he feel so guilty?

Jak dimly realized that he had made his way from the Slums and into the main sector of Haven City. It was virtually empty - no one dared to step outside before the sun rose fully into the hazy sky. Bitterly he noted that maybe the streets would be filled once more when he was gone. No one dared to stand three feet near the renegade, not after they had heard the truth.

The only noise was Jak's steady footsteps; never did he pause.

But then the addiction and craving began to take over as the dark eco in his bloodstream started to engulf everything, threatening to bring Jak down with it if he didn't comply. The edges of his vision began to darken.

No - not here. Not now.

The dark eco continued to fight against Jak's determined will, but it was a losing battle that he was up against and deep down he knew it. He hated it. And even deeper down he was _ashamed_ of it. If only he had been faster, or a little bit stronger. If only he wasn't so Mar damn weak. Maybe then his life wouldn't have spiraled down into the current nightmarish hell that he couldn't wake up from.

No matter how many times or how hard he fell.

Because it seemed as though the gruesome experiments he endured from the Baron would never leave him, no matter how much he wanted them too. Not physically - the deep, crisscrossed scars remained where they would always sit splayed across his chest and neck. Just like any other old battle wound, except each one was a reminder of those two, terrifying years where he had completely lost himself.

And prison wouldn't leave him mentally either because _Mar dammit_ - he couldn't even sleep without the faces of Praxis and Errol looming over him as the dark eco lashed against his body again, and again, while all he could do was scream for them to_ stop, please just make it stop_-

The sound of Jak's heavy footsteps never faltered, even though his faith was long gone.

* * *

Hissing in anger Daxter skidded to a halt outside of the slums, trying to locate Jak's footsteps. The rain which had seemed harmless in the close proximity of buildings that was the Slums, now fell to the ground quickly and with force, washing away everything.

"_Dammit!_"

Letting out an exasperated breath Daxter thought frantically as to what he remembered from the hearing. All that seemed to register was the pained, hard expression on Jak's face and the fact that it just wasn't fair. Then Count Veger's face seemed to smirk inside the ottsel's head and his haughty mouth began to speak in that miserable, nasally voice:

_"You, Jak Mar, are hereby banished to the Wasteland. Be at the port tomorrow morning by six. Resistance is futile."_

The port! Of course, the port! But how in the hell was the ottsel supposed to make it to the port on his own? Oh Precursors, what was he supposed to do? But then an idea- as unappealing as it was -appeared in Daxter's head and he knew he was going to find Jak.

_Pecker!_

Turning back in the direction he had come Daxter quickly scampered east on all fours towards the Bazaar. If anyone could help him now it was the annoying monkey-macaw hybrid, even if the egotistical ottsel didn't want to admit it. But he would gladly do _anything_ if it meant being with Jak again.

* * *

"Where's Daxter?" She asked quietly, for fear of being heard by the wrong ears and he didn't reply. Absentmindedly she brushed a strand of rain soaked hair behind her ear, and tried again. "Jak?"

He looked down at his feet, fists clenched as hard as he could - they shook as he attempted to speak. The words didn't come, yet Keira seemed to understand the silence. Green eyes void of any emotion but compassion for her childhood friend, she laid a small, calloused hand against his arm. "He'll be alright Jak," she murmured. He glanced upward, a blank and bleak expression on his face. Both knew it was a lie, and Jak finally found the will to speak.

"He's going to hate me." Words spoken by a broken man - not a man who single-handedly saved the city. Not the man who defeated the Metal Head leader. Not a hero. He turned his eyes back to the ground, fighting the urge to run; all he ever did was run.

Once again it was quiet. Even when Jak was mute they had never had to face a silence like this.

Then boldly and without hesitation, Keira's hands moved upward to grip Jak's chin, pulling his face towards hers. Startled, Jak let out a small grunt, resisting the voice in his head that hissed at the forced touch. He had to remind himself that it was Keira, and that she wasn't going to hurt him. Common sense grappled with instinct. For a moment Jak almost gave into the sinister thoughts, but Keira began to speak and he was reminded of who he was.

"Jak, look at me."

Willingly he complied, too exhausted to do anything indifferent.

Once his tired eyes focused on hers, Keira's voice increased in volume, a dark expression stealing over her face. "Don't you ever think that he'll hate you, Jak. Daxter is your best friend, he could _never_ hate you." Suddenly her voice softened and a faint blush spread across her face. Her brief fit of courage had drained away completely, as she realized how close their faces were, noses almost touching. Green eyes slid to the ground. "He cares about you Jak. And so- so do I."

The closest words she could find to _I love you._

Something strong began to build up in Jak's stomach and he found himself pushing Keira gently but with purpose against the small arch of the collapsing dwelling. She gave a startled cry from the sudden contact, but it was cut off swiftly as Jak pushed his lips against hers. Within moments Keira returned Jak's intensity with a fervor of her own, the shock from his assertiveness melting away as the kiss deepened.

He wasn't good with words, action was all he knew. Jak gently parted Keira's lips with his own because there was no other way for him to show her how much he really cared.

They were three words. All he needed. But they wouldn't come and for that he hated himself.

Because this was it.

Jak ran his lips along Keira's cheek, using his hand to brush lightly against her hips, her neck, her hair. _This was it._ There was no do over, no second chance. He had but a few stolen moments with the mechanic before he was to be taken to his death. As he moved his mouth against hers with more force he realized just how much he had screwed up. They should have had months, years, decades to be together - not minutes. Not a final goodbye behind a rotting, crumbling building under a smog infested sky.

Because how many times had they done this?

For the love of Mar - how many times had _he_ done this? Tried to forget about his troubles, if only for a minute within Keira's touch? How many times had he kissed her without meaning, held her in secret because he was too afraid to admit how he felt about her?

Precursors, _he had screwed up. _Feelings began to well up in his chest, and that heavy, numbness began to settle in the pit of his stomach. The youth found himself taking Keira by the waist again_, _kissing her roughly,_ too _roughly_. _He listened to the mechanic's sharp intake of breath as he pushed her back against the wall once more. Jak tried to pull away- _not now, please not now_ -but the voice only laughed.

It was hungry.

_"NO!"_

With a snarl he tore himself away from Keira, as far as the small space would allow, panting heavily. Pain; it exploded over his abdomen and Jak bent over, trying to regain some sense of humanity, trying to remind himself why_ he couldn't do that_. If he did - Precursors he didn't even want to think about what could have happened.

"Ja-ak?"

He glanced up and grimaced at what he saw - trembling, Keira held her hand tightly against her chest in fear. She was so fragile, and she didn't even realize it.

It was silent once more, save for the rain and occasionally a gasp of air as neither could seem to catch their breath.

Finally, the sharp pressure subdued from his temples, and the dark, cold feeling that had taken over melted away, leaving him shivering. Wincing at the way his voice cracked and rumbled, Jak murmured, "M'sorry." He struggled to stand, to leave so he couldn't hurt her anymore.

For a heartbeat it was silent again. Then Keira spoke, her voice an octave higher than normal. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

He didn't reply.

Slowly, tentatively with her arm still pressed up to her chest, Keira moved wordlessly towards Jak. He had managed to stand, leaning heavily on the other wall for support. At the sound of her footsteps he turned to look at her, conflicted. For a moment his lips moved soundlessly, before he found the words he needed to say."Not just for that. For everything," he whispered at last, closing his eyes. He moved to leave, and she panicked.

"Jak please just- _don't be!_"

Stumbling forward to meet him, Keira bit back a choked sob and wrapped her arms around him, ignoring how he jumped again at the touch. Everything - absolutely _everything_ was falling apart; why had they stepped onto that damned rift gate? She held back another as he turned to move away - he couldn't leave. She clutched him tighter; she couldn't lose him, not now, not again.

"Keir," Jak murmured, running his fingers through her hair for the final time. The strands were soft, and smelled of home.

Burying herself in his chest, Keira struggled to speak. "Please," she begged, out of breath and unable to form the words she needed to say. "Come back to me."

Tenderly, with far more caution than anyone could ever imagine he was capable of, Jak silently took Keira's face in his hands. Slowly he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. It was quiet for a moment; the only sound was their mingling breaths and the ever falling rain. "I'll try," he breathed, caressing her eyelids with quivering fingers. "I'll try."

It was the only answer he had. Reluctantly he pulled away, trying to forget the smell of her, the taste of her.

He was running out of time.

He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, and that it was the thought of her smiling that kept him alive in prison. He wanted to tell her - not forcibly show her -that he was in love with her. That he always had been.

But he didn't. All he managed was a soft, desolate "Bye Keir,"as he pressed his lips once more to hers for the last time.

The tears that had been welling in her eyes at this point fell, and Keira blinked hastily. His back was turned to her as he staggered past the fallen debris. "Jak. I-" Desperately she tried to force the words out, because it was her last chance to say them but they wouldn't come.

All the while Jak paused, glancing behind his shoulder at her and shifting from foot to foot as his eyes swirled from cerulean to black and back again. "Just- just be careful," she whispered at last, meeting his ever changing gaze once more.

"Always," he murmured, pressed his fingers to his lips and pointed towards her. Then he was gone.

Sinking down to the ground on unsteady legs, Keira wrapped her arms around her aching chest, trying to remember the point in her life where everything had been simple. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the soft waves hitting the shore, the only sound of industry the village windmill as it continued to twirl in the ocean breeze.

And for a second, she could almost breathe.

* * *

The old soothsayer smiled softly to herself as the young ottsel and her orator quickly sped out of her tent, the latter more reluctant than the first.

"If ya don't hurry yer feathery ass now I'm gonna make ya hurry!" Daxter threatened, the unusual seriousness of his voice showing no misgivings that he planned on carrying out the forewarning. Onin grin widened. His loyalty to Jak- although often shadowed by what some might call cowardice -was deeper and truer than any friendship Onin had seen in her many years.

"_RAWWWK! _How dare you threaten me with such nonsense? _¡Bésame el culo, inútil tonto!_"

"Hey! Just cause I don't speak yer stupid language bent beak-"

Soon their brawling voices faded the prophet's old ears, but the joy in her heart never vanished. The Precursors had told her Jak would be saved. Another voice had whispered that he would be saved in more way than one.

* * *

Gritting his teeth Jak stepped carefully into the transport, feeling off balanced and exhausted.

"Next stop, the Wasteland," Count Veger announced smugly.

Jak had no retort. The guns pointed at his back made sure of that.

Sitting uncomfortably between two guards, Jak bitterly tried to keep from meeting Ashelin's apologetic gaze. Instead he kept his eyes focused on his tightly bound hands, and was almost comforted by the fact that this would soon be over. He didn't notice the blur of orange that snaked it's way into the vehicle just as the door began to shut with a_ clank!_

He was out of time.

The transport slowly began to take off and the hope drained from him completely.

* * *

**Okay, so after much deliberation (and a little (a lot) of common sense from my amazing beta, Fishyicon) I am plowing ahead with writing regardless of these previous chapters. So be prepared for much more consistent updates as I finally get this show on the road.**

**Comments? Concerns? Questions? Review. I'd love to know what parts of Jak 3 you'd like to see, what parts you'd rather didn't happen at all (like a certain kiss maybe?) **

**Jak and Daxter unfortunately do not belong to me, but I like to pretend they do. So humor me.**

**Enjoy.**

**~LeiaOrganicSolo**


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

_But that's just how the story unfolds._  
_You get another hand soon after you fold._  
_And when your plans unravel in the sand,_  
_and they're saying what would you_  
_wish for if you had one chance?_

_~Airplanes, B.o.B. feat. Hayley Williams_

* * *

The Wasteland. Blistering hot. Vacant, barren apart from a sleek blue transport gliding across its sandy dunes. As the ship continued its long trek the fiery sun rose higher in the cloudless sky.

* * *

Jak glared menacingly at the metallic restraints encasing his wrists, unconsciously tapping his foot in annoyance. He resisted- oh, how he resisted -the urge to try and escape from the thick metal, knowing the soldiers that surrounded him wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if he did.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," one of the guards spoke, his voice amplified and artificial by his helmet. Directing his intimidating gaze from the handcuffs to the soldier, Jak sighed in frustration.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Ashelin gave him an sympathetic look. He deliberately turned his head the other way, fighting back guilt as her expression shifted to a guarded hurt.

He didn't want her sympathy; he didn't want anyone's sympathy. And why would he? Besides, it wasn't as if she understood what he was going through. Was she being banished? Being thrown out to die? Had she survive two, agonizing, terrifying years of prison? Of torture? Had she ever lost herself, ever fallen so hard that she believed the only way out was death? The only way to get out was to kill herself?

No, no she hadn't. But Jak had lived through all that, and the rigid metal seats as well as restraints were reminding him of the bad times that he still relived in his nightmares. And he wanted out. Wanted to get off of the transport, and away from the city. Go back to the past, back to the era and the village where everything had made sense. He wanted to be human again, not an abomination. Not a weapon.

Not a freak.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

Closing his eyes Jak forced himself to let the memories go, reminded himself that that was a long time ago- although in reality it had only been a little over six moon cycles since Daxter rescued him -and that it wasn't going to happen again. But instead of finding unperturbed thoughts the faces of Baron Praxis and Commander Erol overshadowed his already haunted mind.

Suddenly the narrow transport sunk to low to the ground and flew past a series of rocks and bumps. With a sharp intake of breath Jak was jarred from his dark thoughts as he found himself knocked from his seat. Incapable of using his hands he had no means of stopping himself and quickly met the floor.

There was a dull thump as he landed, boots clanking against the hard metal bottom of the transport. He hadn't spoken at all, but it was apparent by the noise of his grinding teeth that he was none too thrilled by the eruption of laughter his predicament brought.

"Aye, Eco Freak, how'd that feel?" one of the guards asked, chuckling.

In response Jak hissed and let the dark eco enter his bloodstream, ignoring the cold, searing pain associated with the substance. He found grim satisfaction in the way the guards shrunk back at the sight of the sharp fangs that hadn't been there moments before, and the empty, black eyes. In panic they all brought their guns to point at directly at Jak's forehead.

Ashelin's voice rang forcefully through the transport. "Guns down. Now." Her tone held no room for arguments. Unwillingly the soldiers complied; the guard who had mocked Jak as well, but he made sure to keep a strong hold on his blaster, just in case. Slowly Jak let the dark eco melt away, the sharp pains replaced by a dull throbbing at each temple. Why did he care what the guards thought?

Why did he care what the city thought?

"I'd be careful if I were you Jak," he mock-scolded, tugging on the collar of his jacket. "We don't necessarily need to wait for the Wasteland to kill you. Now do we?" His lip curled in disdain as he sneered at the youth.

Struggling to keep her mouth shut, Ashelin bit her lip, hard enough the copper taste of blood filled her mouth. Keeping her icy death glare trained on the ground, the governess didn't notice when Jak looked up, and opened his lips to speak.

"Fuck. You."

Silence ensued inside the transport, and it was Ashelin who broke it. Barking out a laugh she watched as Veger glared indignantly at the undaunted adolescent. "I beg your pardon?"

Jak snorted in contempt. "Didn't hear me the first time? I said-" But he was abruptly cut off as the ship accelerated, and he slid from his grounded position towards the tail of the vehicle. His back collided with one of the large, steel boxes that were holding ammo; he swore under his breath at the pain. He bit back more colorful curses even as the snickers from his earlier complication returned, all the more louder than before.

* * *

Crouching behind one of the containers storing ammunition, Daxter began to growl. Pecker glared at the ottsel from his perch and the growls quickly subsided.

"C'mon!" the bird whispered, gesturing wildly with one red wing. The only one who heard him clearly above the brash laughter was Daxter, who was too busy watching the back of his friend's head to respond. But Jak's ears twitched suddenly and for a moment he feared Jak had heard the moncaw. Then his friend gave a quick shake of his head, most likely telling himself it was nothing and the ottsel relaxed, sighing in relief.

Pecker spoke again. "Get you're scrawny rat's ass up here now, before I tan it and sell it at the Bazaar!" His heavy accented voice lowered, but Daxter still heard every word. "Not that it's worth anything! RAAAWK!"

But the ottsel deftly waved him away, now peeking out from around the corner of the boxes towards Jak's foot. The large blue boot was tapping up and down in repeated recession, a sure sign the youth was panicking. Daxter knew how small transport was; small enough to remind his friend of prison, of torture. And when in a small space or pressed into a corner the claustrophobic warrior lost it. Lost himself. Jak had quietly admitted to the ottsel once that when he turned he often couldn't remember what followed. But he could see it. See the blood and the carnage and the bodies - but what he really saw was what he had become. And it terrified the renegade. Daxter longed to reach over the top of the metal box, to tap Jak gently on the shoulder, look him in the eyes and promise him that everything was going to be alright. Just do something that would keep him from losing himself again.

And tell him that if he ever pulled something as asinine as that again he was going to freaking murder him.

"Daxter, I shall shank you a million times in the head if you don't get up here right now!"

But he couldn't help Jak right then, so he settled for thinking It's gonna be fine over and over again in his head, praying to the Precursors that in some shape or form Jak would be comforted by something, anything.

With one last glance at his friend Daxter turned and scurried up the wall of the transport, balancing himself on one of the pipes where Pecker sat. He made sure to hide his trademark orange fur from anyone down below.

Ignoring the dirty look from Pecker the only word the ottsel could use to describe the situation was _wrong_. It was _wrong_ for him to be up here and Jak down there. It was _wrong_ for them to be separated. And it was _wrong_ that Jak was suffering so badly without his best friend on his shoulder.

* * *

Jak sighed and leaned his head against the steel crate; a brief flash of familiar orange caught his tired eyes. Hope swelled in his chest.

What the-

Daxter?

No, it couldn't be. Jak knew he had left him back in Haven, back in the ramshackle building, practically dead to the world. Daxter had always been a heavy sleeper, even as a child in Sandover. There wasn't much that could wake him up - so he couldn't have heard him leave. Besides, it was nearly impossible that the small ottsel could have made it to the Port in one piece, let alone sneak onto the heavily guarded transport.

No matter how much Jak wished he could have.

Sighing, he heard the sound of pebbles and sound hitting the bottom of the vehicle slow down before coming to an absolute stop; his heartbeat seemed to halt as well.

They had landed.

Jak wasn't afraid to die, it was something he'd come to expect this last year and a half. Everyone died, some more violently than others. It was a part of life. But it was fact that he was going to die alone that scared him; yes he was scared. Terrified even. After prison he'd feared being alone, he feared of remembering that dark, cold cell with nothing but torture and agony to keep him company. That's why he was so grateful that after prison he never was alone, not for a single moment during those dark months.

Because Daxter had always been there by his side through it all. The ottsel's loyalty never faltered, even when there was nowhere to sleep but in a dark alley, protected only by garbage cans and tattered canopies from crumbling buildings. He stood by Jak even throughout the constant danger the two were in, the persistent death threats, the high bounties above their heads, the hordes of soldiers and Metal Heads that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. And still he was there for Jak despite how incredibly screwed up he was; so screwed up in fact he didn't even know who he was anymore. Didn't know which Jak was the real Jak.

But Daxter did. He could see past through the blood thirst, the lust for revenge. Knew that behind all of that was a hero, someone who wanted to save people, not destroy them. Said that Dark Jak was only a shadow of the real Jak, just his deepest and darkest flaws intensified - manifested into a being that Jak had no control over. Daxter never blamed him. And that comforted Jak more than anyone would ever know. Contrary to popular belief, he needed Daxter just as much as the ottsel needed him. Maybe even more.

But this time, he was alone and Daxter wasn't there to help him through it.

Taking a deep breath the renegade mustered whatever courage he had left in him and prepared to meet his destiny, whatever it may be.

* * *

Only Veger remained in the transport, grabbing a large book with his hands, no doubt waiting to spew forth royal decrees and other bull shittery that didn't matter. The fur on the ottsel's back bristled at just the sight of the count. Pecker shot him a warning glare.

"Don't screw this up."

Daxter nodded irritably at him. "I won't. Don't you screw it up ya birdbrain!"

"Why you little-"

Daxter quickly cut off the moncaw with a wave of his paw. He wasn't interested in what Pecker had to say. Not now, not ever. Then, very slowly he began to count backwards from ten, hoping that it would be enough time.

_Ten._

_Nine._

_Eight._

Jak walked out of the transport and into the Wasteland, listening to the crunch of sand under his feet. The dunes were coarse, rocky. Nothing like Sandover. Sharp winds caused by the transports engines bit at his eyes and exposed skin; he wanted to pull his scarf up tightly around his face and put on his goggles, but refused to show any kind of weakness. He wouldn't give Veger that kind of satisfaction.

Suddenly the butt of a gun collided with his back and he stumbled; Jak growled, fighting the urge to turn around. Losing his temper wasn't going to help his situation. He merely kept whatever dignity he had left and continued walking, kicking dust up under his feet. The sound of heavy boots resounded behind him.

They signaled for him to turn back around and he complied, if only to avoid another bruise. Now walking from the ramp of the transport with his head upturned was Veger, a smug look gracing his plain features. The Count stopped near Ashelin- who at this point had crossed her arms angrily -and began to read from a large maroon book perched in his long fingers.

"By order of the Grand Council of Haven City-"

Jak's eyes began to darken, no one seemed to notice but the hidden ottsel.

"Hang on buddy. Daxter's comin' this time."

_Seven._

_Six.  
_

"-for heinous acts and crimes against the people-"

Jak growled under his breath, pulling uselessly at the binds wrapped around his wrists. His effort was futile, they wouldn't budge. He was trapped.

Daxter watched as Jak struggled with the handcuffs, his frustration leaking into his eyes. They were desperate, frantic.

"I promise ya Jak-"

_Five._

_Four._

"-I won't letcha down."

"-you are hereby banished to the Wasteland-"

Jak glared at the count, willing him to combust into flames.

"-for life."

The only sound made was Veger, harshly slamming the ancient book shut. Jak stood, unmoving. It was over. There was nothing he could do. He'd never felt so hopeless.

Ashelin couldn't take anymore. "This is a death sentence Veger!" she burst out, dropping her hands to the side and moving to face him. Her tall frame cast shadows on the ground. "There must be another way."

Daxter smiled grimly; at least Ashelin was on their side. It wasn't much, but it was something. And they were almost there-

_Three._

_Two._

Veger looked at Ashelin and growled under his breath. "Your protest was overruled, and rightfully so! This dark eco freak is dangerous!"

Jak hissed, low and hard. He was ignored.

Turning to the guards whom surrounded the renegade Veger continued. "Now drop the cargo!"

_One._

"Now Pecker!"

Pecker did as he was told, flying down to the transport's floor. "RAAWRK! This is an outrage!"

Veger spun around to face the moncaw, mouth hung agape. Behind him Jak looked up from the sand in shock and Ashelin let a small smile flit across her face. Pecker cleared his throat and continued his rant. "I am outraged beyond words!" Pause. "Although I do have something to say!"

From above the strange bird Daxter took a deep breath.

"Not everyone agrees with this ridiculous_ ARRRGK!_-"

He let go of the lead pipe he had been clinging to, barely missing Pecker as he landed nimbly on two feet. The ottsel struck a pose, ignoring the furious look Jak was giving him. He'd thank him for saving his ass later.

"-Decree!"

Returning to a normal stance it was Daxter's turn to talk."Yeah!" he spat out, crossing his arms and fixing Veger with a glare. "We want a recount dammit!" And by the Precursors, if he didn't get one Veger would pay. They all would pay.

"Oh, I see you wish to join him."

Jak fought harder against the handcuffs, the cold metal digging through his gloves and into his skin. "I swear to Mar if you touch him-" His threat was cut off swiftly as a guard thrust his gun into his side.

"Watch it freak."

"Hit me again," Jak hissed through gritted teeth, "and see what happens."

* * *

Pecker swallowed nervously as Veger glared at the two animals. "Er, actually we are not that outraged. Farewell Jak! Stay out of the sun... Drink lots of water... If you can... Find it..." The moncaw trailed off at the menacing look Daxter was giving him.

"Fine. Go then. I'm staying."

Veger laughed softly under his breath. Daxter compared it to sharp nails scraping against a chalkboard; it fit. "Well let's hope that fur can be used for insulation."

The ottsel suppressed a sound of fear. He was nervous now, unsure of what to do. His ears folded flat against his skull. "Jaaak?"

Jak looked up at the sound of his name and his panic mounted. Daxter was staring desperately at him, ears tucked back on his head. All the while Veger began to close in on the ottsel. Jak looked down, forcing the words out of his mouth; they tasted like poison.

"Go back to the city Dax."

Daxter recoiled from the words, the shock on his face melting away to hurt. "Wha- What are you talking about Jak?" The ottsel stared, light blue eyes never leaving Jak's dark ones. "Jak?" Suddenly anger leaked into his voice, he spoke louder. "You can't just do that Jak! What do you think, I'm just going to leave you here? To die? I just risked my ass for you buddy, and lemme tell you, I ain't leaving without you!"

Jak barely noticed Ashelin approaching, barely cared as the guards turned to leave. "Go home Daxter."

Daxter angrily replied. "I can't Jak!" The ottsel glanced at the ground, and when he spoke again his voice was even softer. "It's not home without you."

He was met with no response.

Veger laughed. "Well isn't that just touching."

Jak didn't reply. He hoped- he prayed -that Daxter would leave, would go back to Haven, would live. He looked up as Ashelin's boots came into view. The wind was picking up now, brown dust swirled against the dark red.

"I'm sorry," she told him solemnly, quickly unlocking the metal restraints. They blinked once and fell to the ground. Jak rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, waiting to see if she would continue. Ashelin did, and there was heavy regret in her voice. "The council is too powerful. There was nothing I-"

He cut off her apology; it wasn't her fault he was banished. "I know." She looked down.

Yet once she looked back up she was determined, there was a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "You just stay alive, you hear me?" Suddenly she grabbed his hand and pressed a small object into it; to onlookers it would have seemed as though she clasped his palm for a handshake; obviously this was the effect she was aiming for. Jak played along, slowly looking down at the item as her hand fell idly to her side. It was a strange blinking device, the metal surrounding it contained letters and numbers in Precursor. The artifact was so old and worn the symbols were illegible. She spoke again. "And that's and order! Someone will find you."

Jak looked at her in confusion, opened his lips to ask her what she was talking about but she cut him off. "I promise."

She promised?

Promises meant nothing, at least not in this era.

But Jak just nodded, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see Ashelin. "I will. And good luck."

She smiled grimly; both knew in these circumstances luck meant as much as a promise. She turned to leave. "And Ashelin?" She faced him now, hand resting on her hip. "If you see Keira, could you..." Jak trailed off, thinking long and hard. "Tell her I'm alright." A lie, but he didn't know what else to say.

Ashelin nodded. Her voice was soft. "I will, but you can tell her yourself when you get out of here."

Hope. It was as useless as promises and luck put together.

This time when she turned to leave Ashelin didn't look back.

Veger smirked as the Governess stalked up the ramp and into the stalled transport. "Well Governess, I-"

"Don't talk to me," she bit out, shrugging past him to sit next to the muted ottsel and moncaw.

"My my Governess. I assumed your father taught you manners. Perhaps I was mistaken?"

"My father was too busy scheming with bastards like you to teach me much of anything," Ashelin growled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Accept to fend for myself." Her tone was cold, but not as frigid as the glare in her furious green eyes.

Veger chuckled, ignoring the way she bristled at the sound. "Ah yes, I see." He turned away from the fuming woman, and back outside to where Jak stood. "Goodbye Jak. May the Precursors have mercy on your soul." He made a gesture with his hand; an old motion used to ward off demons. Unfortunately for the count, Jak couldn't see the gesture past the harsh sand and rocks kicked up as the transport's engines began to start.

But perhaps the youth couldn't see past the pain of separation that clouded his mind.

Jak squinted, bringing his hand up to his face and watched the dim outline of the ship as it flew away. Away from the Wasteland. Away from him.

He was alone.

* * *

Ashelin turned to the seat next to her, an apology forming on her tongue. Suddenly she started, eyes widening in shock.

"Daxter?"

His seat was empty.

And she began to laugh.

* * *

**Well wasn't this just one giant angst fest? Why yes, yes it would.**

**Questions? Concerns? Suggestions? **

**Review!**

**~LeiaOrganicSolo**


	3. Chapter II

**"The Sands of Time"**  
**Chapter II**

_I took a walk around the world_  
_to ease my troubled mind._  
_I left my body lying somewhere _  
_in the sands of time._  
_But I watched the world float_  
_to the dark side of the moon._  
_I feel there is nothing I can do..._  
_Yeah._

_~Three Doors Down, Kryptonite _

* * *

Sand blew past Jak, tugging at his scarf, scraping along his face, digging into his eyes. He peered through the grit, watching as the dim outline of the blue transport pulled away and out into the desolate wasteland, until it was no more than a dot in the distance. He tried to obliterate the thoughts from his mind which told him he was alone; he was unsuccessful and sighed.

Blocking the harsh sun with the fingers that held the mysterious blinking device Jak squinted; the dust clinging to his form was gradually clearing. Lowering his hand slowly the renegade peered curiously at the precursor artifact, wondering why Ashelin had given it to him. It didn't look like anything special; had it not feebly blinked the device would have appeared to be merely a piece of scrap metal. Why was it so important to his survival? He didn't know. And why had she promised him he would be found? By whom exactly - the claws of death?

Still taken aback by the problems at hand Jak looked up as the wind ebbed enough for him to see a dull outline of orange; his heart leapt. Was it even possible?

"Daxter?"

It was.

The ottsel coughed roughly and waved away clouds of sand before curtly replying. "Don't thank me," he bit out. "I'm only here 'cause ya wouldn't last a second without me." His stance was tight, rigid. He didn't meet Jak's thankful glance, instead turned to Pecker. The elf had barely noticed the moncaw, being too preoccupied with his friend's sudden rescue.

He squirmed uncomfortably under Daxter's heavy glare, and turned to Jak for support. "Dax-" the youth began, but the ottsel deftly waved him off.

"Forget it. We have to get out of the sun now, or we'll never make it." He began to walk briskly never turning to see if he was being followed. Pecker looked curiously at Jak, unsure of their next move. Should they follow the furious ottsel? They didn't have to decide on their own, when instead Daxter called back in a enraged tone that Jak never thought could issue from his friend's mouth. "Are you guys comin' or what?"

Pecker ruffled his colored feathers indignantly but complied, propelling himself up in the air. Jak himself followed mutely, the sun already beginning to beat on the back of his neck.

It was silent.

Most would give up their left arm just to shut Daxter up, but Jak would have given almost anything to hear him speak.

* * *

Keira sighed, running a hand through her blue green hair. She hoped no one else could see how hard her hands were shaking; she didn't dare pick up her glass, although the numbing alcohol would probably help. Sitting next to her was Tess, perched on a wooden bar stool. Her leg bounced uncontrollably and Keira focused on that. _Just don't think about it, just don't think about it._ Tess shot her a sympathetic look and the mechanic forced a smile; she felt as though she could shatter.

Suddenly the doors to the Naughty Ottsel slid open with a _clank! _and Ashelin stepped through, her hair windswept and clothes slightly wrinkled. She wore a grim grin.

Tess quickly stood, nearly knocking the stool over in her haste. "Did he make it?"

A long pause; Ashelin ran her hands across her face.

"As far as I know. Daxter went with him."

Keira blinked slowly, letting the response sink in. A small smile- real this time -graced her features. Beside her Tess let out the breath she didn't even know she was holding in.

As long as Jak had Daxter, he would be alright. Keira felt hope... They both would come back to her this time.

* * *

Tiredly Jak looked up towards the sun, watching as it reflected off of the flat sand. Once or twice Jak had stumbled and almost fallen - whether from fatigue or being unfamiliar with the terrain he didn't know. But he was unused to the lack of weight on his shoulder even more than the difference of land.

A couple meters ahead of Jak walked Daxter who navigated the rocky dunes easily; his pace remained constantly fast. Not once did he turn around to look at his traveling companions. Gliding above his head was Pecker, who by this point had become annoyed at being ignored for the past two hours. He glowered down at the ottsel. "You know, this was all _your_ stupid idea," he suddenly burst out. Finally the ottsel stopped walking. Grinding his teeth he spun around and began to shout.

"No, it was yours!" he screeched. "Only a bird brain coulda thought this one up!" The ottsel began began to flap his paws around in an imitation of the moncaw, his voice losing the slight drawl and picking up the exotic tone Pecker carried. "Let's go with him! We'll help, together!" With a snarl he dropped the impression and glared at the other hybird. "Ya mean we'll _die_ together!"

No one said anything else after that, and Daxter made a point of walking even faster.

But very often the quiet would be too much for Jak and he considered speaking to him, wondered if the ottsel would reply or say nothing in return. It grew unbearable at times but Jak stifled it; if Daxter wanted to talk to him he would have. Alas, the youth felt guilty about what had transpired earlier, but nevertheless hurt - he had only been trying to protect his friend. Being dragged into his own messy affairs wasn't something Jak wanted to put the ottsel through _again_. After all, it was the elf's fault they were stuck in the current hell hole of a city to begin with- _and_ -were now most likely going to die of a heat stroke or worse. But Daxter didn't see it that way.

After contemplating on whether or not he should approach his angry friend- it was impossible to tell for how long he had been thinking, time seemed to move slowly in the desert -Jak finally dragged up enough courage to speak to the sullen ottsel.

"Hey, Dax?"

"_What_?"

Jak cringed mentally at the tone of Daxter's voice, but forced himself to continue. "I'm sorry. You have a right to be angry." His voice barely rose above a whisper; he cleared his parched throat. Time seemed to halt completely as slowly Daxter turned to face him. An unreadable expression flitted across his face for a heartbeat and he opened his mouth to speak.

For a couple moments no sound out. The ottsel just moved his lips to words that he could not say, and at times Jak thought he would begin to talk but he didn't. His expression remained cryptic; never before had Daxter remained this calm under any circumstance. Then as suddenly as the strange mood had come on it ended, and he burst.

"THE HELL I DO!"

The ottsel leapt in the air in agitation, his small paws curled into fists. "I have _every_ right to be pissed at you, you- "

The next words Daxter spoke were incomprehensible as he groped around for the right name to call his partner; his lips stumbled over wide varieties of curses and profanities he had gathered over the years. Despite his expansive vocabulary it seemed as though he couldn't find one offensive enough, so the ottsel settled for a loud snarl.

Pecker sat awkwardly, glancing between the duo from time to time, and ruffling his feathers nervously. He had a feeling he couldn't make it alone if the two killed each other. Thankfully the youth's temper had yet to kick in; Jak remained standing and said nothing as the ottsel continued his disordered rant.

"YOU HAD _NO RIGHT_ JAK! _NONE AT ALL!_" Daxter stopped to breathe heavily and glared at Jak expectantly. The adolescent looked down earnestly towards his feet, refusing to meet his friend's eyes; the ground was hard and caked, and withered plants twisted forth from cracks.

"I know."

"You _know_?" The ottsel's paws clenched into fists as he began to shout again; Pecker shrunk back against a sand worn rock. Yeah. He had _no_ chance of surviving this.

"YOU _KNOW_? WHAT THE HELL'S _THAT_ S'POSED TO MEAN WHEN YOU FREAKIN' DESERTED ME JAK? WHEN YOU LEFT ME ALONE?" Daxter spun away from the elf and moncaw, seeming to veer off in the opposite direction they was traveling. "YOU JUST LEFT ME IN THAT EFFIN' NIGHTMARE!" Eyes narrowing Jak moved to stop him as an angry protest rose on his lips; left him? _Left_ him? He was trying to _protect_ him -but he didn't have to; the ottsel pivoted again, his eyes seemingly gone mad, they held no shred of sanity. "HOW COULD YOU _LEAVE_ ME JAK? FOR THE LOVE OF MOTHER _EFFIN' _MAR!" Suddenly the ottsel's voice cracked and his eyes returned to normal. Abruptly he stopped pacing and wrapped his paws around his chest. Jak felt his anger melt away as Daxter continued; the ottsel's voice was unsteady. "Why did you _leave_ me Jak? What did I do?"_ Do you hate me for not saving you?  
_

Light blue turned to face dark as Jak shook his head, denying the unspoken words. "No._" I was just trying to protect you._

It was silent as the two stared at each other. Pecker watched mutely, afraid to get caught in between. Eventually it was Daxter that broke it.

"Well you didn't have to, ya ass," Daxter replied testily at last_, _although his stance relaxed from the stiff, livid pose he held moments ago. With the ice broken, quickly the ottsel scampered towards the youth and clambered up onto his shoulder plate, a sense of ease that hadn't been there before shown on his face. "I can take care of myself." There was a pregnant pause as Jak looked at him curiously. "Well of course I forgive you. But if you ever pull something as stupid as that again-" Daxter broke off quickly to smack the elf on the back of the head, "-I'll freakin' murder you with my own two paws. Got it?" Jak snorted in response, and as though nothing had happened he set off again through the dunes.

Astonished, Pecker quickly moved to follow the two, afraid of being left behind. Shaking his head in disbelief he watched the sudden perk in Daxter's ears and a lightness to Jak's step that hadn't been there before as the two returned to seemingly normal. Fate, he decided, was what held the two together so tightly. They were merely two parts of a whole, and the moncaw suspected the precursors had something to do with it.

* * *

It wasn't much later when Ashelin found The Shadow- she still couldn't get used to the idea of calling him 'Samos' -inside Onin's battered tent tending to a variety of plants. Bowing her head to the old soothsayer who sat praying beside a precursor idol the Governess cleared her throat. The old sage turned from his shrubs and returned his spectacles to his worn eyes.

"Is he gone?"

Ashelin nodded grimly; her hands felt cold. This stress - she couldn't take much more of it before she lost it. Was this how her father had gone mad? Had there been so much pressure that he cracked, fractured into a million tiny pieces? The governess shook her head and tried to block out her dark thoughts as Samos spoke again.

"And where's the rat?" Words meant to be said in scorn, without any feeling. But somehow sympathy found and slipped into the sage's voice; he cared.

Her response gave no hint she had heard the blunder. "Daxter's with Jak."

Suddenly a throaty, wheezing sound filled the tent. Ashelin looked in alarm towards Onin, afraid the prophetess had become ill. Instead she was laughing; tears of joy shone down her face and her hands remained clasped in a silent prayer.

_He will be saved._

* * *

**Meh. Much shorter than I originally wanted this chapter to be, was going to have it go all the way to meeting Damas. Then the writers block kicked in... As for the quote... Now that I think of it this song is where I got the idea from the title from, so see you guys? I have some shred of sanity. **

**So um yeah. More to come. Jak 3 is an awesome game, if you randomly stumbled upon this and like it well don't just stand here! Leave a review and then (only after leaving a review mind you) go buy the game. HURRY.**

**REVIEWS = LOVE  
**

**~Leia**


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

_The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step._

_~Mar family motto  
_

* * *

Jak cursed, bringing his hand up to his face in the feeble attempt to block out the sun. His vision wavered, dark images flickering across his eyes. Blinking frantically he waved his fingers in front of his face and was pleased when he could count the number of appendages. Three hours of walking and the ark of the sun had finally reached it peak, bringing a scorching heat with it, much to the trio's dismay.

It was unusually quiet in the desert unlike Haven City. The only noise was feet moving across the sand, and wings beating sluggishly in the stale air. Naturally it was Daxter who broke the silence, as Jak nearly stumbled from shock.

"AUGH!" he burst out, stopping to grab at his goggles. Pecker swiveled around to stare, too fatigued to be annoyed at the sudden stop. "I can't believe the city friggin' did this to us! We saved those lowlifes!" Jak opened his mouth to retort, but found his tongue to feel too heavy, his throat too dry. Daxter turned to face his friend and recoiled. "Hey, uh, you okay Big Guy?"

Jak mumbled in response and found himself sinking onto the sandy ground. Rocks and gravel dug into his knees as Daxter worriedly scampered over. His vision was going black around the edges, but he could make out the ottsel as he loomed nearer.

"Jak? Stay with me! Jak? Are you listening to me? I said-"

"The city's divided Jak," Torn muttered, punching coordinates into the computer.

Blearily Jak blinked his eyes once, twice. _Where was he?_

"Reports here say that new Krimzon Death Bots got hold of a vital section of the Industrial Area," Frowning, he brought his fist on top of the table, hard. "My men are getting their asses kicked!"

The headquarters of the Freedom League were sleek, and chrome plated. A stark contrast to the gritty and sandy dessert. Jak opened his mouth to say something, anything, just so he could understand why he was here and why Torn was glaring so angrily at him, when the commander continued.

"The KG _have_ to have a new leader. I've got Jinx and some others trying to figure out who the hell it is."

Suddenly Samos spoke and Jak felt his mind reeling - _where had the sage come from?_ "I'm afraid I have more bad news," Samos informed them gravely. The blue light from the holo-screen illuminated his wrinkled face, and Jak was reminded of the blue eco sage from his village all those years ago. "It seems as though a large group of Metal Heads have concentrated themselves in not only the slums, but in the port as well. People have nowhere left to go."

"But we destroyed Kor!" The words left Jak's lips before he was even aware of them forming. Looking groggily to his left he found Daxter- who _couldn't_ have been there before -nodding fiercely in agreement.

"Yeah! That metal scum is history!" The ottsel exclaimed. "Whadda you _mean_ there's more of em?"

"It _means_ Daxter," Samos shot back, "that the strongest Metal Heads must have survived and are working their way here as we speak. The battle for the city has just begun!"

Jak looked back towards Torn, whose usually determined eyes were grim. "Jak, the citizens..." He struggled for the right words. "The people are blaming you Jak." Wincing, the youth turned away, and was startled when his mouth was filled with gritty sand.

He coughed, and found himself flush with the ground where he once stood - or at least he thought he did. Why was everything so blurry? Daxter's voice resounded in his ear.

"Right. Good plan Jak... A nap might - a nap would be nice." The ottsel collapsed in the sand, breathing shallow.

Jak was dimly aware of Pecker landing with a dull thump as well - but Torn's voice spoke once more.

"Meet me at the Palace in an hour Jak - we could use some backup. They're planning something, I can feel it."

The renegade coughed, air cutting his throat like a knife and mumbled, "The palace."

* * *

"Sir, we're pickin' up a signal just past the river."

Sigh. "Kleiver, our radars are always finding unidentified signals, why is this time any different?"

There was a lengthy pause; water trickled throughout the room.

"Because it is identified, sir. Says righ' here belongs to a certain _Ashelin Praxis_."

The sound of a heavy object clattered to the floor_, _and the person belonging to the first voice grunted.

"Go get a search party, _now._ We'll head out there immediately."

"_Yessir_."

* * *

The sound of technological static filled Jak's tired ears, mixed with explosions and scattered voices.

"What's the report?" Samos muttered into the radio, eying the ground below him with worry.

Torn's voice broke through from the hand-held. "Precursors, it's bad. The city's become a freakin' battlefield, I'm not sure how much longer we can hold 'em off. Mechanized Death Bots have now completely taken over the entire Industrial Section - we're trying to retreat but there's no where to go."

Jak and Samos winced simultaneously; Daxter cursed. The sage spoke once more. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, but it ain't good," Torn replied hastily. "The surviving Metal Heads have expanded their hold on the West Side - the Port is crawling." He stopped, and Jak could hear Ashelin's clear voice talking with the commander. Whatever they were talking about was muffled by more static.

Looking out towards the fray of battle, he spotted a friendly Hell-Cat, cerulean paint blending in with the sky. Daxter nudged him with a furry paw. "I can see Ashelin's hair from here," he joked. Jak rolled his eyes.

"Don't forget the council meeting is tonight," Ashelin called out. "Emergency session. Rumblings about you Jak... It doesn't look good."

Jak looked away from Daxter to stare back at the combat. Samos sighed, fingers hovering over the OFF button. "Thank you Ashelin, Torn. Be careful out there."

"You don't agree with them, do you?" Jak shot out, after the sage had put his radio away. Samos shook his head.

"What's done is done - I've told you that more times than I care to count. Right now Metal Heads are assaulting the Palace, looking for something. I just wish I new what they were-"

But Samos was cut off as the ground beneath their feet began to tremble, and sounds of explosions grew near and nearer, and the horizon seemed to tilt.

"_Help!_ WE'RE FALLING!" Daxter screeched, digging painfully tight into Jak's shoulder with his claws.

Panicking, Jak looked quickly towards where Torn and Ashelin had been earlier, letting out the breath he had been holding in as he saw their Hell Cat flying towards them. "OVER HERE!" He managed to shout, even though his throat still felt parched.

He found himself leaping over the nothingness with Daxter screaming shrilly in his ear, before gravity took over and he clung onto the vehicle as tightly as he could. Samos' stunned words echoed in his ears.

"By the Precursors..."

But then Jak's vision wavered, and black was all he saw and heard.

* * *

"Looks like we found some lives ones," he announced glancing at the trio. He prodded the only human with the toe of his boot, who in response groaned and wrapped his arms around his torso. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. "Heh, barely."

Suddenly the glint of metal caught his eye and in the youth's hand was the beacon their radars must have picked up. "Aha," he murmured to himself. "Gotcha." Stooping to the sand he grabbed the teen by the front of his tunic. "Who gave this to you?" He demanded.

The only response he received was a raspy moan and the mumbling of a name. "Daxter?"

Nose curling in disgust he let go of the blue fabric, and the youth dropped back down with another groan. "We'll take them with us," he told the others, growing impatient as the moved slowly. "And hurry!" He turned towards the setting sun and tugged the collar of his shirt higher, til it nearly covered his mouth. His dark blue eyes shone with something- _determination, humor?_ -as he spoke once more.

"I smell a storm coming."

* * *

**Finally, another chapter. Thank you thank you thank you Fishyicon for being the inspiration that I needed. I sent you this to beta, but I am so excited I have to post it right away. Now the fun can begin, for real this time.  
**

**For the record, that Mar family motto is real. I was looking for mine for a school project and stumbled upon it. How cool is that?**

**Enjoy and review!  
**

**~LeiaOrganicSolo**


	5. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

_My memories are silent films _  
_playing in my mind._  
_And the distance stretched between us_  
_ is one hell of a ride._  
_Oh but the light is slowly fading,_  
_windows breathe the cold._  
_I'd close the shades but I'm afraid _  
_of whats inside my soul._

_~Chamberlin, Turn Around_

* * *

Time passed in waves for him - he was never quite sure when he was awake or when he was dreaming.

Voices- loud voices, quiet voices, strange voices -seemed to form and meld inside his mind. There were many of them, that much he was certain, and he had trouble distinguishing them apart. However there was _one_ that seemed to shock him with a sense familiarity down to his very core, but he didn't think it was Daxter's slight drawl. No, it was far too low, much too raspy to be his friend's.

_So who was it then?_

Sometimes he would find himself swimming through a stream of consciousness and he would be hyper aware in spite of how exhausted he was; his tired, bleary eyes would try to soak in every detail around him. Water. Arched ceilings. A throne. This wouldn't last for long, though, because whatever medicine was being administered to him would kick in soon thereafter, he would start nodding off, back to his restless sleep which—oddly enough—contained none of his usual nightmares.

_He felt so much lighter here._

Often, he recognized the feeling of needles poking through his skin, and he panicked, his body going numb with fear_—not again, oh, Mar, please not again._ But the prick of the instrument never lasted for long and he found himself floating, floating through visions of blurred shapes, of colors, of people and places, and of a single pair of dark, determined blue eyes that were strikingly similar to his own.

_Who _are_ you?_

* * *

It was the sound of Daxter's voice and constant nudging that finally woke him from his doze. "Jak. Hey Jak. Jakky boy, wakey wakey!"

With a disgruntled growl Jak swatted the ottsel's paw away, and in one fluid motion rolled back over on his cot in the hope of catching some more sleep before whoever found them returned. "Go'way Dax."

The orange rodent merely let out a huff of frustration and placed his hands on his hips; narrowing his eyes he spoke once more.

"C'mon now Big Guy!" _Snort_. "Don'tcha wanna see where we are?" _Grunt._ "Or who we're with?" _Grumble._ "Or look at your new _haircut_?" Daxter grinned as his friend suddenly bolted upwards, hands moving to his now cropped 'do.

"...the hell?" Jak mumbled, fingers tugging absentmindedly on the short strands of blonde and green. Looking down at himself, he noticed the torn fabric of his tunic, which was now sleeveless. Blinking away the remaining weariness, he scowled mainly at Daxter's crooked smirk, but to himself as well.

The youth wasn't particularly fond of the new haircut and the fact someone had been messing with his clothes, but he was still alive, and that was all that mattered. The train of thought continued, and he grudgingly he realized his and Daxter's lives were in debt to their saviors, whoever they were. He turned to see Daxter holding back a snicker, and childishly stuck out his tongue. "Shuddup."

"Didn't say anything," Dax retorted, jumping into the small, pool of water before Jak could grab him. Shaking his head, Jak rolled his eyes and moved to stretch on a rock on the water's edge. His vertebrae creaked with each movement, and he winced in pain. The cot seemed to have done more damage than good.

"Ahhhh, I love the water," Daxter announced, reappearing from under the surface. "Oh yes, it's good. Water good, desert _bad_."

"Well you've come back from the dead, have you?" A deep voice boomed from behind the duo.

Startled, Jak whirled around on instincts to find the source. Standing by the throne was a man, with thick locks of hair seemingly bleached by the sun. The fabric of his clothes were thick, and rough, worn down by what Jak assumed was life in the desert. He had a stubborn set to his jaw and dark, steely blue eyes that never left Jak's own.

The eyes from before, the youth noted, as he mentally reprimanded himself for not noticing the man earlier. He forced himself to sit up straighter, wincing a little as the worn fabric of his shirt rubbed against his burnt skin. _Show no weakness, show no weakness..._

"And my monks were ready to pray for you," the man proclaimed, a smirk growing on his lips. He seemed to bring himself to his impressive full height as he moved down the steps, and spoke in his rumbling voice once more. "I am Damas." Jak felt his stomach clench at the name; he wasn't sure why. "King of Spargus."

"Spargus?" the youth found himself blurting out simultaneously with Daxter. He ignored the curious glance the king swept between himself and his friend; he'd learn soon enough the two couldn't help but finish each others' sentences. Granted they would be _alive_ that long. "But nobody lives outside Haven's wall."

"Yeah!" Daxter exclaimed, dragging himself out of the water and at Jak's feet. "Not a whole city!"

But Damas merely let another smile flit across his face- this one more intimidating than the last -and continued. "Ahhh yes. We are the forgotten ones. Haven City's refuse, thrown out and left to die." He turned his gaze knowingly on Jak, who bristled on instinct. "Just as you were. But now that you have been saved..." The king paused for dramatic effect.

Jak's gut told him he wasn't going to like what was coming next. Beside him Daxter obliviously wrung out his tail.

"Your life belongs to the people of Spargus," Damas finished. Jak felt his eyes narrow, and the pull in his gut getting stronger as dark eco flooded his veins_. _Daxter immediately ceased wringing out his tail and stared incredibly at the king, mouth moving soundlessly. "And we intend to use it well. If it's actually worth anything," Damas scoffed bitterly.

"Hey!" Daxter finally exclaimed, pointing angrily at the man. Jak fought the dark substance stinging through his blood as Daxter continued. "That sounds like a bad deal!" he emphasized, flinging his arms to the side.

The king countered back, his form tall and bold and in charge. "You are in _no_ position to deal! Out here-" he gestured behind him to the large, arched windows. "Everything is either useful, or _dead_ weight." Daxter swore bitterly under his breath, but Damas payed no mind. "Prove yourselves worthy, or the desert will be your grave."

Standing up, Jak threw himself into a stronger stance, head spinning as blood rushed to from his head. He payed the fatigue no mind. "You need to work on making a better first impression," he bit out, clenching his fists in anger. He felt Daxter crawl up along his arm until he perched on his shoulder, warm fur brushing against his cheek. He took a deep breath. Let it out.

But Damas merely laughed and continued speaking as though he hadn't heard the youth at all. "In the unforgiving Wasteland, we value strength and survival above all." Disregarding the two with narrowed eyes, he spoke once more."We will see where you stand soon enough. You must enter the arena. Only the bravest crawl out and are allowed to stay." He barked orders to someone behind the two renegades. "René, Alain. Take these two to the arena."

"Woah woah, hold it Mr. Sand King!" Daxter shouted as he and Jak were led away by two intimidating Wastelanders. "Uh, what happens to the ones who don't crawl out?"

Damas bared his teeth in an almost feral grin. "Then it will be as though we never found you."

The ottsel gulped, tugging on the back of Jak's scarf nervously. "I was afraid of that."

* * *

The hallway to the arena was dark and winding, scarily similar to the Baron's palace. On either sides of Jak walked the Wastelanders that had taken them from the king's quarters- one a woman, tall with amethyst hair, the other a man, shorter and with broader shoulders. The only sound emitting from the group are the faint echo of footsteps.

Jak winced as their march became one, monotonous noise, reminding him of soldiers in red armor and long hallways with bolted doors that were impossible to forget, especially when the people he was being escorted by had dark, bold tattoos displayed across their face, and-

Without warning, Daxter poked him in the temple and he swiveled his head to look at the ottsel's steady gaze. "You okay Big Guy?"

Jak nodded, allowing himself to force a smirk in Daxter's direction as they were led out into the arena itself. The smirk however, melted off his face as he took in the crowd, the sheer magnitude of Spargus as a whole, loud and cheering for the bloodshed to begin.

"Holy yakkows," Dax mumbled under his breath. "This really is a whole city, isn't it?"

Suddenly a voice- strangely familiar -rang out of the speakers, above the raving people. "Hail all citizens of Spargus! Welcome to the arena of death-"

"Wait a second!" the ottsel exclaimed, looking at Jak. "Do you hear that?" The youth shrugged, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. The ottsel groaned in frustration. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

The announcer continued. "-where we get to watch other people wet themselves in fear! These halls will once again test two newcomers, each fighting to prove their worth to stay among us."

The platform the two youths were standing on top of abruptly shifted, and they began to rise. Daxter clung tightly onto Jak's scarf, still mumbling to himself. "-has to be some sort of sick joke, had hoped he'd died or somethin'!" Jak looked at him curiously but not for long, as they reached their destination. It was time.

Sitting regally in his own private booth was Lord Damas, that feral grin still etched on his features from before. On the side of his throne perched Pecker, still speaking into the microphone." Now let's hear it for Jak and his obnoxious talking animal!"

"Pecker!" Jak exclaimed, ignoring Daxter's growl. "There you are!"

"Yeah, there you are, you bastard!" the ottsel exclaimed, shaking a fist. "Where the hell were ya?"

The moncaw ruffled his feathers indignantly, and smirked. "Damas says, I am to be his new counsellor. He says _my wisdom_," at that Daxter scoffed, "will serve him well. Oh yeah and um... Damas also says that, _RAAAAWK_... you two are likely to die in the arena today."

The two exiles traded nervous glances, but Pecker paid no mind.

"And he hopes your death is very ahh..."

"Will you stop that?" Daxter interrupted angrily. He ignored Jak's warning glare. "Damas can speak for himself!"

The king seemed to straighten at that, and his eyes took on a darker glint as he formed his words slowly, and carefully. "He is right. You are most likely to die."

"Lovely," the ottsel muttered, tugging absentmindedly on Jak's goggles, who fixed him with an annoyed glance. "If we die Jak, I'm going to kill you."

Damas kept talking as though Daxter hadn't spoken at all. "And yes, Pecker is my new adviser."

"_RAAAAWK!_ Unlike you, some people appreciate my talents," the moncaw said smugly to the duo. "By the way," he continued, now addressing only Daxter. "I saw a few of the fights earlier. Oooo... not a pretty sight. "

Snarling, the ottsel reached towards the exotic bird. "Why you little-"

"Let the games begin!" Pecker quickly shouted into the microphone. The rest of what Daxter had to say was cut off by more screams and cheers from the arena. Jak jumped in surprise as once more the platform began to move. He looked up to see Damas peering at him as one would a specimen. Bitterly, he felt his eyes narrow.

"A'right then Jakky boy," the ottsel said at last, allowing a grin to cross his face. With a snicker he cracked his furry knuckles menacingly, and Jak couldn't help but forget about Damas and grin back. "Now let's show these schmucks what the Demolition Duo is made of!"

When the bell rang Jak broke off in a sprint, Daxter clinging loyally to his shoulder just as he always had.

* * *

Keeping his eyes trained on Jak's blue clad form, Damas slowly asked Pecker, "What is Haven like now?" To preserve his pride, the sand king pretended to be interested in a non existent stain on his tunic, as the moncaw dutifully answered.

"_RAAAWK!_ It is quite different then when you were there m'Lord." Ruffling his feathers, he continued. "Some days I feel they are hopeless, that they can barely stop fighting themselves let alone the enemies." His eyes were dark, much more sad than Damas had ever seen in the bird. However he looked up. "But then people like Jak come along, and you realize that maybe not all hope is lost."

Damas nodded, pushing away the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that seemed to appear whenever Jak was mentioned. However he could not help but continue to watch the youth navigate the obstacles with an unsettling ease. "I see. And how is Onin?"

Pecker considerably perked up at the mention of his seer. "Oh, very well Lord Damas - although she believes you to be dead. You- _RAAAWK!_ -dropped from sight not long after Praxis dropped you here. She'll be pleased to know that-"

"No," Damas stated suddenly, swiveling around to look at the moncaw. "She must not know."

"But m'lord-"

"I said _no_ Pecker," Damas repeated, more sharply than before, dark eyes flashing. The moncaw visibly wilted but nodded nevertheless. The king sighed and faced towards the arena once more. Yet his voice softened with his next words. "Besides, it is not as though I could return. Spargus," he glanced around the stadium, corners of his lips turning upward. "My people need me Pecker. I cannot abandon them."

The moncaw flapped his wings and fluttered over to perch on the king's shoulder. "I understand Lord Damas. Forgive me. It is just that you are a- _RAAAWK!_ -rather familiar face for sore eyes."

"I know Pecker," Damas replied, almost wistfully, turning his gaze down to the mysterious youth and ottsel. "I know."

* * *

"Jump! Jump! Jump!" Daxter exclaimed, pulling on the collar of Jak's tunic. "For the love of Mar! Would ya mind watching where you're goin' Jak?"

Looking up for a moment to fix the ottsel with a glare, Jak suddenly cried out when Daxter gripped his ear and tugged, hard. "_JAAAAAK!_ IF WE GO OVER THE EDGE _I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!_"

"Maybe if you stop tugging on my ear, I won't go over the edge Dax," Jak retorted, rubbing his ear delicately. Precursors.

Turning to face the gap he now faced, Jak took a deep breath, and leaped. Wind blew past his face and he barked out a sharp laugh. It felt like he was flying, nothing between him and the lava floor but air. Then his feet hit solid ground and he rolled to soften the landing.

"Made it," he murmured. "Only one more." But that didn't stop Daxter from shrieking at him to watch where he was going once again.

* * *

"The candidates have won the challenge!" Pecker exclaimed after the duo had arrived back. Jak allowed himself a small smirk at the evident distaste on Damas' face, and looked to Daxter.

"That's right!" the ottsel cried, puffing out his chest. He tugged absentmindedly on Jak's ear, and continued. "You haven't forgotten what I taught you Jak!"

"Anyone can make a few measly jumps," Damas retorted. Reaching down for something at his feet, he continued. "Now let's see how you rate against the living!"

Jak stretched his arms out just in time, as the king tossed him a small, but sturdy morph gun. The weapon was not unlike Jak's gun in Haven. Seemed easy enough to control. He grinned.

Now addressing the Wastelanders down in the stadium, Damas shouted once more. "Readjust the Matter-Formers. Prepare the arena for full combat!"

"Hold it!" Daxter barged in, hands on his hips. "You mean we have to fight against_ actual people?_ With _actual weapons?_ Who actually," he paused to gulp, "want to _hurt us?_"

"Fine!" Jak replied, ignoring the furious look the ottsel was giving him. He could feel the dark eco practically crackling in his fingertips. It had been too long since he'd let off some steam. "Bring 'em on!"

"Alright, _THAT'S IT!_" Daxter shrieked, pointing towards Damas. "I wanna be on _his_ shoulder!"

* * *

Pecker allowed his beak to stretch into a grin, despite his nervousness at watching Jak go up against bloodthirsty marauders. He had promised Onin he wouldn't let anything happen to the hero, but somehow he knew the marauders wouldn't stand a chance. Nevertheless, he turned his grin to Damas. "You know, this place seems to suit you. It's a very dry, gritty place, if you don't mind my saying m'lord."

Playfully, Damas cuffed the moncaw upside the head. "Watch it. Or would you rather be down there with Jak, hmm?" At the sound of the renegade's name, Pecker's face blanched, as his feet shifted uncomfortably. Damas peered at him curiously, a sense of unease growing in his stomach. "Pecker?"

"Ahah yes," the moncaw mumbled. "Speaking about Jak, there is something you must know."

Damas fixed his gaze on the youth, confused with Pecker's strange reaction. Jak was not_ normal,_ Damas could tell that much. But of what significance was this mere seventeen year _child?_ Surely, he couldn't be that important. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to then another outcast. Then suddenly, the boy dropped his gun at his feet.

Dropped his gun.

On purpose.

"What is he doing?" The king leaned forward, trying to get a better view at what in Mar's name- his stomach pricked painfully -was going on.

"Oh no- _RAAAWWK!_ -this is not good, this is so not good, I had hoped to tell you-"

"What are you blabbering on about?" Damas quickly interjected the moncaw with a glare, allowing himself to glance away from the arena if only for a moment. "Pecker?"

Pecker moved frantically in front of the man's face, trying to block his view. "M'lord, why don't we go, I don't know- _RAAAWWK!_ -and maybe we could-"

"Pecker!" Damas practically snarled. Now standing to look past the red and blue feathers, he watched as the marauders surrounded Jak, who did nothing but stand still, on all sides. "What is going on here? Why isn't he—"

And suddenly Jak was exploding, in a stream of dark purple lightning.

"He can channel eco."

A statement, not a question. Pecker grimaced nervously but did not reply.

"You have some explaining to do."

* * *

The transformation was the easiest part, as his body goes slack with pain, as the eco runs through his veins. It's easy, even as sharp, pointed horns slice through the skin of his temple, and fingernails curve into dagger like claws. Jak knew when it was coming, knew what it entailed.

It was the afterwards that kept him up and screaming at night.

He sunk his claws into the flesh of one marauder, relishing in the feeling of the edges of its bones as he went clean through the skin. Blood poured for the wound and he grinned crookedly at the way the masked creature screamed in agony.

There were more of the other creatures, and he could feel them surrounding him, their heartbeats loud and erratic, blood flowing strongly through them. Sinking his teeth into the neck of one, he slashed at the stomach of another. Their blood filled his mouth and he drank - it had been far too long since he had been able to do this.

It was continuous. They kept coming and he kept killing.

Then there were no more, and he felt his power slipping, felt the darkness recede from the corner of his mind. Felt himself to return to normal, as Daxter patted his head comfortingly... or as normal as he could ever be.

* * *

Groaning, Jak stepped onto the platform, using up the remainder of his energy to stay standing. His stomach was churning, dark eco itching beneath his skin. He was dimly aware of Daxter wiping blood off of the side of his face and he grunted his thanks. He didn't have to look to know the ottsel was staring worriedly at him.

"M'fine," Jak managed to mutter over the loud cheering of the crowd.

Daxter shook his head, scowling. "Why didn't you tell me it was getting worse?" The ottsel's voice contained none of his usual lightness, and for once Jak wished his friend was joking around.

"I said _I'm fine_ Daxter," the youth retorted, louder and sharper than before. More eco crackled from his fingertips and Daxter cringed, but did not shy away. Trying to ignore the guilt and dark eco tearing apart his insides, Jak dropped his head in his bloodstained hands and took a shaky, steadying breath. Pain spiked at his temples and he looked up, his strength almost leaving him completely.

Gasping out in shock and recoiling from the form of what he assumed was one of Spargus' monk, Jak couldn't help but stare at the simply murderous expression the other was wearing. Squinting, he tried to get a closer look at the painted white face, and dark scarlet eyes but he- or she -was gone.

He was about to turn to Dax to ask him if he had seen the monk as well, but the platform came to an abrupt stop and he stumbled. Daxter tapped him on the shoulder and slowly, reluctantly he turned his weary gaze to the king, expecting horror, anger, disgust... But the only expression Damas wore was confusion and maybe even mild curiosity.

The king was staring, but not in the way Jak was used to, and he had little trouble meeting the dark blue gaze straight on.

Pecker cleared his throat awkwardly, and was about to speak but Damas cut him off, stormy eyes never leaving Jak's. "Something you're not telling us, animal man?"

And this was it, Jak realized. As Daxter's fur stood on end and he growled under his breath, Jak had already accepted their- _his_ -fate. Damas had no use for a monster, a freak. He was a liability, and naturally it would be better for Spargus if he was not a part of it at all. He was about to open his mouth to reply but Pecker quickly interrupted, eyes pleading him not to say a word.

"He has been touched with dark eco, my liege," the moncaw answered, wings fluttering around in ways reminiscent of his master, Onin.

"Yeah," Daxter interjected testily. "Our boy here gets all mean and nasty if ya piss him off." He leaned almost territorially over Jak, small eyes narrowed into slits. "So don't piss him off." The ottsel wagged his finger for emphasis. "Word to the wise."

Jak met the king's gaze once more, and was surprised to see that although the confusion and curiosity had melted away, they had been replaced by interest. Not disgust. Hope swelled in his chest as Damas spoke softly but determinedly.

"Ah... So he is dangerous? And that could be useful."

Daxter's fur began to settle as his pose grew less rigid and Jak found the corner of his lip twitching, slowly but surely. He allowed the smile- however small -to flit across his face, if only for a moment.

"Your bravery," Damas continued. "Has earned you your first battle amulet." He gestured down to the circular, precursor-like artifact that reminded Jak of the beacon Ashelin had given him before his banishment. He limped his way over to the table, and ran his fingers over the cool, worn metal. "If you are victorious in two more arena fights, you will earn your citizenship to Spargus."

Carefully setting the amulet back to the table, Jak looked up just in time to see Damas throw another, small artifact towards him. "Here is a gate pass to allow free passage in and out of the city. But beware," the king's tone took on a harder edge and Jak turned his gaze back. A voice like that deserved only the utmost respect. "There is no true refuge outside his walls." The words were dark, foreboding. The youth knew he would try to adhere as best as he could.

"The desert is much less kind than I. And for your victory," Damas concluded, a smile of his own on his lips, "a gun mod is your prize."

"Oh yeah!" Daxter interrupted, jumping up and down in anticipation as Jak picked up the thick hunk of metal. "Now we're talking." But the rest of the ottsel's words were lost on Jak as he turned to look once more at where the mysterious monk had stood. The renegade's eyes narrowed as a dark, heavy force settled in his stomach, and hung over his very being like a cloud.

* * *

**Oh mah goodness, it's done. After being written, accidentally deleted, rewritten, edited, and slaved over, it's done. Not to mention I have absolutely no talent when it comes to writing fight sequences... So bear with me. Not to mention how difficult it is in terms of writing dialogue. As much of a silent hero we think Jak is, he talks quite a bit in the games, and I have to decide what he gets to say and how much, compared to Daxter who never stops talking.**

**Like ever. Ahaha.  
**

**But as usual, I must give thanks to my amazing and beautiful beta-reader, FishyIcon. Thanks hon, for putting up with my procrastination, stubbornness, and lack of proper grammar. _(P.S. Fishy, I googled the meaning of the name René and it means independent, or warrior. So it's staying for sure :D)_  
**

**Read and review please! As always (:  
**

**~LeiaOrganicsolo**


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